tbd

tbdThis is the last half of what I started so far from our walkabout. What began as a stream of consciousness evolved into a poem.

Love, not a feeling but an ability. Where did I hear that?
It's onset cultivated out of a soil rich with experiences
From seeds of our past sprout the flowers of our future
But not all flowers are pleasing to the eye
just as emotions are not all pleasing to the soul
Clouds
floating in formation
soldiers all on the same mission
but what is their destination?
What if
those clouds were on a voyage
unknown to the living
What if
souls seeking their destination
were riding on these puffs of purpose toward their final resting place
What if
they actually determined the day's forecast
What if
blue skies were a latent broadcast, announcing hearts still fighting to beat
while countless swirls of cumulonimbus soared to insinuate
the transportation of immesurable souls boarding the same bus of bouyancy
adrfit in the sky